Within The Haunted Mansion
by Werecat Boy
Summary: A poetic tour through the halls and grounds of the Haunted Mansion.


Here is another poem about the HM that I had written for a while and finally decided to post it. It's sort of like a ride-thru of the entire Mansion. Please R&R. Enjoy!

* * *

**Within The Haunted Mansion**

There it rests in the hills;

Foreboding and cold;

The old, abandoned mansion,

With its dark, menacing hold.

It stares down on the town ominously,

Like an old ruined king;

And throughout its grounds,

Darkness shrouds everything.

And in this ghastly mansion,

Emit otherworldly shrieks and moans;

From the 999 ghosts and haunts,

That call this place home.

Shall we cross the threshold of this mansion?

And see what awaits us within;

Encounter these fun-loving ghouls,

With their ghoulish glares and grins.

The foyer is so opulent and lavish;

It is indeed quite a sight;

A mournful dirge on an organ plays throughout the room,

In the flickering of the candlelight.

Our ghost host's voice then booms,

Chuckling with sinister glee;

But no mortal can see him;

He's a disembodied voice, you see.

We then step into a gallery,

Where four large portraits hang on the walls;

The portraits then begin to stretch,

As the room starts to grow tall.

However, something is strange about these portraits,

Besides the fact they're stretching in this ghostly domain;

For each painting's subject looks and moves about;

Their ghosts inhabit the canvas and frame.

The first portrait displays an elderly widow,

With a rose in her hand and a smile on her face;

Sitting atop a gravestone in a cemetery;

What could she be doing in this ghastly place?

She sits upon her husband's grave,

With a bust of his head at the base;

An axe is dug into his skull,

Perhaps there is reason for the smile on her face.

The next shows a man with a derby hat,

Looking smug with his arms folded across his chest;

He wears a necktie with a brown suit,

All dressed up in his very best.

However, this confident gentleman,

Is sitting on the shoulders of a worried man;

Who also sits upon the shoulders of another lad,

Who is waist deep in quicksand.

The third one depicts a beautiful young woman,

In a Victorian summer dress of lavender and white;

She holds a parasol in her hands,

And her brown hair shines in the sunlight.

She stands on a tightrope over a river,

Where below her lurks a gruesome fate;

A crocodile with open jaws,

Bides his time and patiently waits.

The last portrait displays a dignified elderly man,

Looking pompous in his suit and tie;

But he only wears boxer shorts from the waist down;

Guess his pants weren't ready before he died.

But this old man doesn't seem troubled;

He hasn't lost his wits;

Even though he's standing atop a lit keg of dynamite,

And is surely going to be blown to bits.

The lights in the gallery then wink out,

With the sound of a woman's scream;

Lightning illuminates the rafters above,

And a corpse hanging from a noose can be seen.

The gallery's doors then slide open,

Letting us explore more of the mansion's ghostly rooms;

Where strange and frightening sounds echo,

Throughout the dismal gloom.

A portrait corridor with four large windows,

Is brightly illuminated with flashes of lightning;

And with each flash, the five portraits change,

Into images that are more frightening.

The first portrait depicts a woman dressed in white;

And on a sofa, she reclines;

As she starts to take on a cat-like appearance,

With her features becoming more feline.

Another shows a knight mounted upon his steed,

Looking gallant and supreme;

He's struck down by a bolt of lightning,

And becomes a skeleton with a ghostly gleam.

One displays a Grecian woman in an ancient temple,

Giving a stately and regal stare;

She transforms into a sneering stone gorgon,

With slithering snakes in her hair.

While another illustrates a grand sailing ship,

Chartering the high seas;

That gets swept into the waves of a fierce storm;

Helpless to escape or flee.

And the last portrait displays a young Victorian woman,

With a lovely face that one always remembers;

But she ages into an ugly, old hag,

In the cold month of December.

There's also the dark and dusty library,

Where there are only ghost stories, of course;

With marble busts that glare at each passerby,

And books being shuffled by an unseen force.

Upstairs is the endless hallway;

A misty passageway that forever extends;

A candelabra floats down this corridor,

That seems to offer no end.

And a funeral is taking place in the conservatory,

Where the coffin's un-dead occupant is full of fear;

He desperately tries to pry open the casket,

As he yells, "Let me out of here!"

Then there's a ghastly corridor,

Where doors constantly knock and pound;

Trapped souls plead and scream from behind them,

Filling the hall with otherworldly sounds.

And in the seance room is Madame Leota,

The mansion's medium who beckons wraiths with her call;

She truly is a disembodied spirit;

Nothing but a mere head inside her crystal ball.

And up in the attic wanders a bride,

With a visage of mourning and dread;

She searches for her groom even in death,

While her heart still beats bright red.

But the real ghostly gathering in this mansion,

Is taking place in the great hall;

All the mansion's residents are gathering,

For a grand, ethereal ball.

A spectral old lady sits in a rocking chair,

Near the hall's entrance doors;

While outside, from a hearse,

Ghosts enter the room by the score.

At the large dining table is a birthday party,

Where spooks gather for the swinging wake;

The guest of honor then materializes,

And blows out the thirteen candles on her cake.

While overhead on the large chandelier,

Intoxicated ghosts gleefully play;

Each of them holding glasses of wine,

And happily drinking the night away.

Nearby, on a balcony are two ghostly duelists,

Trying to settle the score that neither has won;

They have their backs drawn to each other,

Turn around, and fire their guns.

And down below on the dance floor,

Six transparent couples glide through the air;

Waltzing around in fast circles,

Passing through tables and chairs.

Meanwhile, an ethereal organist sits at the keys,

And plays a haunting refrain;

As wraiths fly out of the organ's pipes,

And float around this ghostly domain.

And the party continues outside in the graveyard,

Where spooks shriek and harmonize;

They're arriving for this midnight spree,

To celebrate and socialize.

A quintet of ghostly musicians,

Play a song of fright.

A flute, drum, bagpipe, harp, and horn,

All sound and play together in ghoulish delight.

Nearby, a wooden board is settled atop a gravestone,

Creating a teeter-totter for a spectral queen and king;

While close by, their daughter - a princess,

Glides back and forth on a swing.

There's also five marble busts that spring to life,

And sing together with ghoulish glee;

They croon a piece entitled "Grim, Grinning Ghosts":

A spooky graveyard melody.

While the spirits of a British Lord and Lady,

Are having a jolly, old time;

They're seated at a small table,

And toast with glasses of wine.

A group of shrouded banshees,

Also enjoy bicycle rides up on a hill;

Pedaling around the graves,

In the night air's ghostly chill.

And a group of Victorian spirits,

Surround a hearse stuck among the tombstones;

They celebrate with having a spot of tea,

And singing in their own ghostly tones.

While a mummy tries to speak,

To a hard-of-hearing old man;

But he's wrapped under a numerous layer of bandages,

Making his speech hard to understand.

And nearby is the specter of a large opera woman,

With Viking garb and long braided hair;

She wails away an operatic duet with a man,

That pierces the night air.

Then there's a transparent executioner,

Who converses with an ethereal knight;

The knight holds his talking head in his extended hand;

It is indeed a frightening sight.

And from a mausoleum, emerges an arm,

Clutching a garden trowel, next to a pile of bricks;

Trying to seal itself back in its tomb,

At a rate that's frantic and quick.

Leaving the grim jubilee in the graveyard,

Up ahead, a large crypt looms;

Where many bodies have been laid to rest,

Within the enormous tomb.

And inside the crypt is a ghostly trio,

Who are looking for another place to roam;

They have their thumbs extended in the air,

Waiting to follow somebody home.

One's a plump, jolly fellow with a top hat;

Another's a skeletal ghoul with a sinister leer;

The other is a short man with a ball and chain,

And a long, white scruffy beard.

Passing the ghostly hitchhikers,

We encounter a small woman dressed in black;

She clutches a dead bouquet in her hands,

And calls out to us to "Hurry back!"

Exiting out of the crypt,

We find ourselves back on the mansion's grounds;

And we proceed to leave this ghoulish abode,

Where ghosts and banshees abound.

And we'll never forget,

The sights we witnessed inside;

On this night, when we entered the mansion,

Where 999 ghosts and haunts reside.


End file.
